


Where the Shore Fires Burn Out

by J (j_writes)



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:26:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_writes/pseuds/J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for DS Harlequin:  "A dangerous and lusty liaison: in order to trap the killer who's stalking him (all the way to the NWT), Ray Kowalski agrees to play house with a hunky Mountie. But he soon realizes that their desire for each other is more than just an act."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Shore Fires Burn Out

"So. You're my Mountie."

The wind was howling across the airfield, nearly knocking Ray off his feet, but this guy was standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, steady as a goddamn tree.

A big flannel tree. With muscles.

"Well I wouldn't say I'm _your_ Mountie, Mr. Kowalski. Technically, I am Canada's Mountie, and also the Queen's. But it would be accurate to say that I am at your disposal for the upcoming days." He took Ray's suitcase from his frozen hands and stowed it in the back of the truck, then held the door open patiently while Ray bundled himself inside.

"First of all," Ray said when the Mountie joined him, "the name is Ray. You call me Mr. Kowalski one more time, and I kick you in the head."

"Understood, Ray," the Mountie replied, turning on the truck.

"What about you?" Ray asked, rubbing his hands together and reaching over to crank up the heat. "Am I just supposed to call you 'Mountie' this whole time?"

"Of course not," the guy said in a _don't be ridiculous, Ray_ voice. He leaned over and turned the heat back down. "No one is supposed to know that I'm a Mountie at all. You can call me Fraser."

Ray turned the knob back up. "I can _call_ you that? What is it, like your code name or something?"

"It's my last name."

"Your _last_ name. Great. So what? I'm not good enough to call you by your first name? Is that it? First names are reserved for Canadians only or something? I have to join your secret club? Look here, Mountie man. Whether you like it or not—" Fraser reached for the heat, and Ray slapped his hand away, "—you and I are a couple until this whackjob who's after me is caught. We are going to be—"

"Ray."

"—living together, and cooking together, and doing freaking _laundry_ together, and yeah, we're going to be sleeping together too, because that's what undercover means, and you never know who's watching."

 _"Ray…"_

"And if you're too uncomfortable with that, well that's your own damn problem. You're just going to have to lie back and think of Canada or whatever. Because you are getting _paid_ to protect my American ass, regardless of what you might think of it!" He paused. "Me. Think of me."

"Ray!" Fraser finally said loudly, leaning over to clamp a mittened hand over Ray's mouth. "The heater in this truck is broken," he said mildly. "Turning it up is only going to blow cold air at us." He shifted the truck into gear and pulled out into the snow. "My first name, by the way, is Benton. I trust you'll understand why I don't use it." This last part came out stiffly, and Ray stared ahead into the snow for a few moments.

"Oh," he finally said lamely, and banged his head against the window as Fraser hit a bump.  
______________

"Home sweet shack," Ray said as Fraser ushered him into their new home. He turned just in time to see Fraser looking mildly offended. "What?" he asked, putting his suitcase down by the couch and starting the long process of shedding his layers.

"It's not a shack, Ray, it's a cabin," Fraser said, firmly latching the door behind them.

Ray paused, glancing around. "Four shaky walls, little teeny windows, no heating system…" he paused as the wind howled, making his point for him. "Probably an outhouse. Sounds like a shack to me."

"There's indoor plumbing," Fraser said, gesturing to a door down the hall. "And electricity, and heating. We aren't living in an igloo, you know. There's a fully functional kitchen, already stocked," he said, pointing to the other end of the main room, "and the spare bedroom has been converted into an office and library. We have a computer, and phones, but no television, I'm afraid. Cable was deemed too expensive, and the weather makes reception of local stations spotty at best."

A wolf trotted out of the bedroom and sat down at Fraser's feet.

"Oh, and look, it even comes with its own wildlife," Ray said.

Fraser smiled. "This is Diefenbaker," Fraser said, leaning down to scratch the fur at his neck. "He wants to know if you brought any donuts."

"Sorry, buddy," Ray said to the wolf. "I don't think customs would have liked that too much."

Dief made a low whining noise. "Customs doesn't like him much either," Fraser said, and Ray got the uneasy feeling that Fraser was _translating_ between them.

Fraser got up and moved to the door to let Dief outside. "So there's really no tv?" Ray repeated, looking around the room as if he'd find one and prove Fraser wrong. "What are we supposed to _do_ with ourselves?"

"We're hiding out, Ray, trying to draw out the man who is after you. You're not on vacation, you know."

"Really? And I'd confused this with Hawaii," Ray said dryly.

"There's no need to be snippy, Ray," Fraser said. "The RCMP has gone to great lengths to see that you are comfortable here."

"Yeah, they even checked up on the kind of Mountie I'd want living with me," Ray said bitterly.

Fraser didn't blink at that. "I got this assignment because I am accomplished at protection duty, and also at undercover work. I assure you, my selection had nothing to do with your sexual preferences."

"Right, and if you had to protect a straight cop, I'm sure he'd be living here in this dinky little shack with you too, right?"

"I don't know what you're implying, Ray, but I was not assigned to protect a straight cop. I was assigned to protect you. That is all I am concerned with for the duration of this assignment." He stripped off his bulky coat and hung it on a peg near the door. "I don't know about you," he said in an entirely different tone, opening the door to let Dief and an icy blast of air into the cabin, "but I haven't eaten since this morning." He knelt down to rummage through a cabinet and gestured Ray over to the fridge. "I didn't know what you liked, so…" he shrugged.

Ray opened the fridge to find it loaded with every type of food he could imagine. "Jesus, Fraser. You bought all of this?"

"The RCMP has allotted us a generous food budget," Fraser said, not quite looking at him.

"This is enough food for—" he stopped, watching Fraser dig determinedly through the cabinet. "Thanks," he said instead, and Fraser looked up, a startled smile lighting up his face.

"You're welcome, Ray."

"How about omelets?" Ray asked, holding up a carton of eggs. "I make a mean omelet."

Fraser frowned. "Oh, I don't expect you to cook for me…" he said uncomfortably, but Ray ignored him, piling vegetables and packages of cheese onto the counter. "You can do the dishes," Ray said. "And here, I'll even let you make the home fries." He tossed Fraser a bag of potatoes, grinning as Fraser fumbled it a little. "Unless you don't think you can handle it."

"I will try to the best of my abilities," Fraser said gravely, eyes laughing.

Ray smiled to himself as he searched the kitchen for a cutting board. Maybe, just maybe, this whole thing wasn't going to be quite so bad after all.  
______________

By the time they had changed into their pajamas, he was starting to rethink that assessment.

Ray slept in sweats. He pretty much always had, except for when he was naked. Fraser, it seemed, slept in big red cotton armor.

"What _is_ that?" Ray asked, boggling as Fraser padded into the living room, hair still damp from his shower.

Fraser glanced down. "They're longjohns, Ray. Warm sleepwear is a necessity in the north, as I'm sure you will find."

"Yeah, but…" Ray waved a hand at the fire flickering in the fireplace, and then at the thermostat on the wall, "we've got heat, right? And blankets?"

"Of course," Fraser said. "But the body sleeps best when the temperature is regulated for it, when it doesn't have to work to keep warm."

"You're making that up."

Fraser shrugged. "I'm not, actually, but I'll leave that for you to discover on your own." He nodded towards the fire. "If you're going to stay up, make sure you put that out before you come to bed."

It was the first time Fraser had mentioned their sleeping arrangements, and it made Ray swallow nervously. As much as he'd like to let Fraser get settled into bed and then sneak in once he was asleep, the flight had exhausted him. He knew that he'd pass out in minutes if he stayed on the couch. "I'm coming," he said, and lifted himself from the couch, groaning like an old man.

"Sore?" Fraser asked him as he extinguished the fire.

"Plane limbs," Ray told him, and Fraser nodded knowingly.

"You should do some stretching tomorrow, when you're not so tired," he suggested. "I have some very helpful books on yoga, if you'd like to borrow them."

Ray tried to imagine Fraser doing yoga, and swallowed as his mind filled with images of skin rippling over muscles, legs stretching, sweat forming along the nape of Fraser's neck, just begging to be licked off... "Thanks," he said lamely. "Maybe tomorrow."

Fraser turned off the lights in the kitchen, plunging them into darkness. "You Canadians ever hear of a little thing called a night light?" Ray asked. He felt Fraser's hand land on his lower back, startlingly warm, steering him towards the bedroom.

"I'm sorry, Ray. I forget sometimes that my night vision is more highly developed than most people's."

When they got to the bedroom, Fraser turned on the light, earning him a dirty look from Diefenbaker, who was curled up along the foot of the bed. "Out," Fraser said, pointing. Dief left, making a very human-sounding grumbling noise. Ray and Fraser were left standing there, staring at the bed.

"So," Ray said.

"Yes," agreed Fraser.

"Do you…have a side?" Ray asked.

"Not particularly, no," Fraser said. "Do you?"

"I—" Ray thought of Stella, of the way he had just started learning how to sleep alone again. "No. I don't."

"Then did you just want to…" Fraser nodded at the bed awkwardly, and Ray burst out laughing.

"This is ridiculous," he said, and jumped onto the bed, bouncing a little, rumpling the sheets and leaning back against the pillows. "It's just a bed," he told Fraser. "It's not going to bite you."

Fraser smiled and pulled back the sheets on the other side, crawling between them. "You might, though," he said, and Ray snapped his teeth in Fraser's direction. They both giggled helplessly.

"Man," Ray said, tipping his head back against the headboard. "Sleep deprivation. Fun stuff." He kicked the blankets down and climbed in, reaching over to turn off the lights. He bit his teeth together a few more times into the darkness and felt the way the bed shook with Fraser's laughter.

"Night, Fraser," he said when silence fell.

"Good night, Ray."

He turned on his side, smelling Fraser on his pillow, and wondered how many nights Fraser had spent alone here before Ray arrived.

When he fell asleep, he slept so deeply that he didn't dream.

He woke only once in the night, finding his cold arms and feet tucked all around Fraser's warm body, Fraser snoring quietly into the pillow. He drifted off again as he was reminding himself to ask Fraser where he could find some of those pajamas.  
______________

It figured that Fraser was one of those people who wanted to get out of bed as soon as the sun was up. The first morning Ray felt Fraser get up, rolled over, and stuffed his head under a pillow to keep the sun out of his eyes. He only managed to drag himself out of bed hours later, when the smell of coffee got too strong to ignore. He wrapped himself in a blanket and shuffled out into the kitchen, feeling like a zombie.

"Coffeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee," he intoned, and could barely open his eyes wide enough to see Fraser's hands wrapping his fingers around a mug. "You? Are the best Mountie ever," he said. "They should give medals to people like you." He slumped down onto the couch and sipped, gradually waking up to the warmth of the fire on his face, the feeling of Dief sleeping across his feet.

Fraser was sitting on one of the stools at the counter, reading a book and drinking tea. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, and Ray figured he'd probably been waiting until Ray showed the slightest sign of being human.

"Like a rock," he said, then frowned. "A log? I don't know. One of those things. The one that sleeps a lot." He nodded and drank some more coffee. Then he held the mug out to peer into it suspiciously. "Do we have any Smarties?" he asked, and Fraser shook his head.

"No, I didn't buy any candy," he said. "I'll put them on the list for next week, though."

Ray frowned into his coffee cup for a while more, then shrugged. "Yeah, ok. Thanks."

He groaned as he got up to put his mug in the sink, and Fraser frowned in his direction. "Still sore?" he asked.

Ray shrugged. "Just a little stiff," he said.

"I was just about to go out and chop some more wood for the fire," Fraser told him. "You're welcome to join me. It might do your muscles some good."

Ray peered out the window. The snow had stopped, and he couldn't hear the wind anymore. That had to be a good sign, right? "Yeah, sure, ok. I'll just…" he pointed at his shirt, then at the bedroom.

"Take your time," Fraser said, waving him on, and Ray retreated to the bedroom to see if he could find any clothes fit for a lumberjack.

Of course, the closet was full of flannel.

He should have known.  
______________

The next morning, Ray woke up and couldn't move.

"Fraser?" he said, trying to roll over, and failed utterly. "Fraser!" he called a little louder. "Fraser!! I'm stuck, I'm broken, I can't move, and it's entirely your fault!!" he roared, which brought Fraser running to the door.

"Ray?" he asked, kneeling at the edge of the bed and peering down at him. "Are you all right?"

"Am I all right?" Ray repeated. "Am I _all right_? _Look_ at me, Fraser. I'm a freaking statue. I'm the Mona fucking Lisa. I can't bend my arms. I can't move my neck. I can't _roll over_. You have an invalid on your hands, and you're asking if I'm all right??"

"Oh dear," Fraser said, rubbing his eyebrow. "You must have overexerted yourself yesterday chopping wood."

"You _think_?" Ray asked. "I've pulled every muscle in my body!"

"You haven't pulled anything, Ray. Your muscles are just tense, that's all. They're not used to that kind of strain. Come here." His hands landed on Ray's shoulders, rolling him over onto his stomach. He poked at Ray's back and arms for a few moments before making a "hmmm" noise.

"What's that 'hmmm,' Fraser? Is that a bad 'hmmm?' Is that a 'hmmm' I'm not going to like?"

"Ray," Fraser said," his voice calm and soothing. "Relax. There is nothing wrong with you. Your body is tired and stressed, it's nothing more than that." He ran a hand down Ray's back, and Ray shivered at the contact through his t-shirt. "If you will—" Fraser paused, then continued. "If you will permit me, I think I can help you."

"Yes, yes, I permit you," Ray groaned, burying his face in the pillow. "I do not want to be stuck in this bed for the rest of my life!"

"There's no need to be melodramatic," Fraser said, pulling the blankets further down and exposing Ray further to the cold air.

"Fraser, do you have to—" Ray started, but then Fraser's hands were cupping his shoulders, warming him, his thumbs working gently into the tense muscles of Ray's spine. "Oh," he said instead. "Ohhh." And then he stopped talking altogether, letting Fraser's hands soothe his tired body.

It turned out that in addition to being able to make a great cup of coffee, Fraser was also a man who knew what to do with his hands. He alternated his movements, long and soft, short and hard, drawing moans from Ray's lips as he worked his way down the center of his spine and then back up, moving across his ribs, his shoulders, caressing the knots out of the muscles of one arm, then the other.

"Ray?" he asked eventually, his voice drifting lazily through a thick fog of sensation. "Ray, do you mind if I…" he tweaked at the bottom of Ray's shirt, and Ray mumbled his assent, surprised at how quickly and efficiently Fraser was able to pull it off, and equally surprised at how painless the motion was.

Then Fraser's hands were on his skin, open palmed, stroking their way down his sides and back up again, then going to work on his shoulderblades, digging in with delicious pressure. Ray arched back into the touch, realizing for the first time that he was hard and rocking unconsciously against the mattress with every pressing motion Fraser made against his skin. He tried to stop, but that just made him tense up more.

"Are you ok?" Fraser asked eventually, and Ray forced himself to relax, to increase the pressure on his aching cock against the bed.

"I'm…fine, Frase. I'm…I'm fucking great," he said with a chuckle, and he could practically feel the way Fraser was smiling through his fingers.

"Good," Fraser said, working his palms into Ray's lower back. "Good."

Ray let Fraser's hands rock him back and forth, cock rubbing roughly against the material of his boxers, relaxing every muscle in his body, just letting Fraser touch him, move him, fix him with those incredible strong hands.

"Ok," Fraser said finally, patting Ray on the back. "Why don't you see how that feels?"

"Feels great, Fraser," Ray mumbled into the pillows, and he heard Fraser laugh.

"I mean moving, Ray. See if you can move."

"Right," Ray agreed. "Moving." He shoved himself upward, push-up style, and didn't feel a single pull or twinge. "Yeah," he said, collapsing back onto the bed. "Yeah, like I said. You should get a medal." Fraser laughed again and smoothed a hand down Ray's back.

"Thank you, Ray. I'm glad that I could help." Ray felt the bed shift as Fraser got up. "If you're hungry, I could make some pancakes," Fraser offered from the doorway.

"The hell with that," Ray said. "You go sit down. _I'm_ making _you_ breakfast. Just…" he waved a hand in the direction of the bathroom. "Give me a minute, ok?"

"Take your time, Ray," Fraser told him, and disappeared out into the living room.

Ray grabbed some clothes for the day and hobbled into the bathroom, clutching them in front of his pants in case Fraser was in eyeshot. Once the door was closed behind him, he reached out a hand to brace himself on the tiles over the tub, and shoved the other down his pants.

God. Fraser's hands. The way he just…took Ray and moved him around the bed like he was _nothing_. Ray shoved his pants down and kicked them off, wrapping his hand around his cock and jerking fast, hard, still feeling the tingling sensation of Fraser's touch along his back, his neck…drawing tiny tight circles into that spot behind Ray's ears that drove him out of his mind, moving down, down, so close but not close enough, stopping just at the waistband of Ray's pants.

He imagined those hands moving further, massaging their way into Ray's pants, over his ass, then around, cupping his cock, already straining against his boxers. Fraser wouldn't tease, he'd know what he was doing, jerking Ray slow, too fucking slow, but hard, tight, then speeding up as he felt Ray losing his grip, knowing exactly what Ray needed, exactly how tight to hold him, how fast to move—

Ray came with a loud gasp, striping the wall of the tub, his whole body trembling with the force of it. He flushed the toilet to cover the sound of the tub running while he quickly rinsed off, then pulled on the clothes he'd brought with him.

Fraser was waiting when he came out of the bathroom, and he gave him a big fake smile before diving into making breakfast.

Yeah, this was going to make things a _lot_ more complicated.  
______________

The sixth day, they fought.

About nothing at all, really, and everything. Ray knew it was the combined frustration of living with one person that he barely knew for way too long a stretch of time with no break, and also all that sexual tension, but somehow it came out in a fight about why Fraser hadn't bought any fucking Smarties, and went downhill from there.

It ended in Fraser storming outside to chop wood, and Ray retreating into the study to throw Fraser's books against the walls.

Hey, no one ever accused him of being mature.

It was while stuffing them all back into the wrong spaces that he found the file, tucked in between two volumes of Shakespeare. He knew what it was before he opened it, but that didn't stop him from taking it out, settling down in Fraser's armchair, and reading.

It was the file of one Stanley Raymond Kowalski, Chicago cop and fuckup extraordinaire. Fired from his last post not for fucking men, oh no, but for "gross incompetence." Incompetence his ass. He'd been the best cop in that building, and everyone knew it.

Then there was the sheet on the whackjob, a certified creep who had already damaged two gay cops beyond repair. And lucky for Ray, he was the guy's latest target. He'd come to Canada to escape him, and just after touching down got a pretty clear message in the form of a lipstick message scrawled across his hotel mirror. That was when the Mounties had moved in.

Or, more accurately, when he'd moved in with the Mountie.

He heard Fraser cough quietly in the doorway and looked up, wondering how long he'd been there. "This is what they give you on me?" he asked instead, waving the papers. "This is what you know?"

"That's what I knew," Fraser said, and left it at that. He moved slowly into the room, cautiously, as if Ray was a snake about to attack. When Ray didn't say anything else, he sat on the edge of the desk, legs hanging off it. "I know more now."

"Yeah?" Ray asked.

"Yeah," Fraser said.

"Like what?"

"Like the things that you can only pick up from living with someone. The fact that you've only recently learned to sleep on one side of the bed after your marriage. You put on your socks before your pants, but take them off first when you're getting changed. You hum to yourself when you're cooking. Usually Bruce Springsteen or something like that, but sometimes older music, the kind of songs my grandmother taught me to dance to. You dance when you're alone. You talk to Diefenbaker, not like people usually talk to him, but like you're having a conversation." His eyes strayed to the bookshelves. "You get back at people in petty ways, like by rearranging their books." But he didn't sound mad, and there was a tiny smile on his face.

Ray flushed. "I…uh."

Fraser gestured at the file. "That told me some things. You told me the rest." He slid off the desk and moved into the doorway. "Sandwich?"

"Nah," Ray said. "I'm good."

He watched Fraser leave, and then started putting the books back where they belonged.  
______________

On Sunday, Fraser went to the store, and Ray played in the snow.

Ok, according to what he told Fraser, he was "exercising Dief." But it was warmer out than it had been since he'd gotten to this godforsaken country, and he was going stir crazy locked up inside the cabin. So he bundled up and went outside, and threw snowballs to Dief until the wolf got tired and whined at the cabin door until Ray would let him back in.

Then he made snowmen.

By the time Fraser got back, Ray was putting the finishing touches on a snowDief, already having made one snowman with a Mountie hat and another one with familiarly spiky hair.

"What do you think?" he asked Fraser as he helped him unload the truck.

"The resemblance is uncanny, Ray," Fraser told him.

While Fraser unpacked the groceries, Ray spread the other bags around the living room and started poking through them. "You bought clothes," he commented, holding up a green flannel shirt, soft to the touch.

"Actually, I bought _you_ clothes," Fraser replied from deep inside the freezer. He pulled his head out again to address Ray. "We don't know how long we'll be here, and you only brought a few shirts warm enough for this climate. I figured rather than do laundry every few days…" he shrugged. "Was that presumptuous of me?"

Ray was already pulling the shirt on over his t-shirt. "Nah, it wasn't pre— presen—whatever." He turned to face Fraser. "Well? Am I a mountain man yet?"

Fraser inspected him. "You still need the beard…but you're getting there." He pointed to a blue bag sitting on the table. "Open that one," he said, smiling like a proud parent on Christmas.

"Did you buy me a present?" Ray asked, grinning. "Was I a good boy this year?" He peeled back the plastic, then stopped. "You _did_ buy me a present."

"I bought _us_ a present," Fraser corrected him as Ray pulled the CD player out of the bag. "I know you brought your CDs, and you can listen to them on the computer, but I thought it would be nice to have them out here while we're cooking, or after dinner."

"This is…" Ray swallowed. "Thank you," he said, knowing it sounded lame, but not knowing how else to express it.

"You're very welcome, Ray," Fraser said, and his smile broke something in Ray. He crossed the floor and wrapped Fraser in his arms.

"Thank you," he said again, feeling Fraser's hands awkward against his back, and then he pulled away.

"How about some music?"  
_____________

The next few nights found them spending the hours after dinner on a blanket in front of the fire, Dief curled up at their feet, leaning back against the couch and listening to music. The first couple of nights, it was Ray's music, over which they would talk about their lives before.

 _Before_. It was like they were talking about some momentous event, some great shift that had happened in their lives. As if everything had changed in the time since they had ended up in the cabin.

Maybe it had. Maybe Ray would find himself marking the years as B.F. and A.F. now…Before Fraser, and After Fraser.

He made Fraser do most of the talking, because he felt like he'd spent the whole time they had been there talking about himself. Fraser knew everything there was to know about him now…or anything worth saying, anyway. He had known next to nothing about Fraser, so on the first night, when they were sitting there against the couch, sitting close enough that Ray could feel the heat from Fraser's shoulder, he turned to him and said "So. Tell me things."

Fraser started telling some story, and Ray shook his head. "No, tell me _things_. Tell me about _you_."

Fraser looked completely perplexed. "What do you want to know, Ray?"

"I want to know…" Ray waved his hands in the air. "Whatever. Tell me about becoming a Mountie. Tell me what your favorite books were when you were a kid. Tell me about your first kiss. You've been listening to my stories for way longer than you probably wanted to. It's my turn."

It took some strategic prompting, but Ray soon found out that once Fraser got going, it would take a national emergency to stop him. Ray sat there with his head tipped back against the couch, listening and laughing, and learning.

Then one night, he told Fraser to bring out a CD of his own. It was old music, quiet and a little sad, and Ray found himself getting lost in it even though he didn't know the lyrics. "My grandmother had this record," Fraser said, leaning his head back against the couch cushions. "I'd sit in the attic with the old record player they never used, and I'd listen to it over and over. I used to imagine…" he stopped and shook his head.

"Imagine what?" Ray asked.

"It doesn't matter," Fraser said, and lapsed into silence.

"I think it does," Ray said. He turned his head to see Fraser smiling sadly at the fire.

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe it will. Eventually."

Ray couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he listened instead, tipping his head back and watching shadows play across the ceiling. When the next song started, he listened for a few bars before raising his head. "I _know_ this song," he said, pointing at the CD player.

"Do you?" Fraser asked, looking at him.

"Yeah, I…" he shook his head. "I haven't heard it since we were kids. Since I was a kid. It was…Stella's mom made her take dancing lessons, and she took me with her because…I guess she thought it'd make me more cultured or something. More like her. It didn't. But it meant that all of a sudden I was a kid from the wrong side of the tracks who could dance. Lot of good that did me.

"But this song. This was one of the ones they used to teach us. They'd play it over and over and over and over, until nobody was tripping on anyone's feet, and everybody knew the steps." He got up and held his arms out, half expecting to still feel Stella there, the way he would sometimes, dancing alone in his apartment. Instead it was just him, moving through the steps with empty arms in front of a fireplace.

He glanced down at Fraser, who was watching him move with sparkling eyes and parted lips. "C'mere, Fraser. Thought your grandmother taught you how to dance," he said, grinning. Fraser looked startled for a moment, then smiled back, climbing to his feet and stepping awkwardly into Ray's arms. "Here," Ray said, shifting them around, "I'll even do the girl's part for you. I'm versatile." He counted with his eyes, and then they were moving, Fraser's hand warm on his hip, their other hands clasped together. They were clumsy at first, but then found their rhythm and moved smoothly across the blanket, in time with each other, in step, never looking away from each other's eyes for a second.

The song ended, and the next began. They stopped, and Ray felt Fraser's hand trembling against his. He twisted their fingers together and let their hands drop, still tangled between them, Fraser's hand still resting against the waistband of his jeans. "Ray," he breathed into the space between them, and Ray leaned in to press his lips to the corner of Fraser's mouth. He moved his hand from Fraser's shoulder up into his hair, tilting his head, kissing Fraser's jawline, his cheek, his forehead, then resting their heads together, looking into Fraser's eyes.

"I want this," he said quietly, holding Fraser's gaze. "I want this so bad. And not because you're a hot Mountie, or because you're my bodyguard, or because I've been stuck here with you for a long time without seeing anyone else but the wolf. I want this because you're you. Because you bought me a radio to keep me from going out of my mind, and because you can tell Eskimo stories for hours on end, and you go to bed by ten every night. Because you get back at people by chopping wood, and you write in that journal every night, even though not one goddamn exciting thing has happened since we got here, and because you knew without me having to tell you that every single thing in my personnel file was crap.

"I want this," he said again, dropping his eyes to look at their clasped hands. "But I don't want to fuck things up, because who knows how much longer we'll be here?"

Fraser made a strangled sounding laugh, and Ray lifted his eyes to look at him. "Not one day longer, Ray. Not if you don't want to."

Ray felt a chill run down his spine. "What do you mean?"

"I mean your stalker has been caught. He showed up in town this afternoon, and was detained on the spot. I got the call when you were in the shower."

Ray pulled his hand out of Fraser's. "And you didn't _tell_ me? Jesus, Fraser! What reason could you possibly have for not telling me something like that?"

Fraser wouldn't meet his eyes. He sank down onto the sofa and looked into the flames instead. "I wanted…I'm sorry, Ray. I would have told you tomorrow. I just…" he shook his head. "I wanted one more night of this." He waved his hand at the fire, the blanket, the music still playing softly in the background. "I wanted…" he flushed. "I wanted to wake up one more morning with you wrapped around me."

Ray shook his head. "And you thought, what? That I'd get the news and be on the next flight out of here?"

Fraser lifted his head. "Yes, that's exactly what I thought, Ray. Wouldn't you? Why wouldn't you take the first opportunity you got to get back to your life?"

"Maybe because what I've got in Chicago isn't a life at all! Maybe because I wouldn't _want_ to go back there after this. Maybe because you're the best goddamn thing that's ever happened to me, and there isn't a thing in this whole world—not your shitty winter, or your sucky hot water heater, or the capture of one freaking nutjob—that is going to make me want to walk out of this cabin!"

Fraser's lips curved into a tiny smile. "Don't you mean shack, Ray?"

"No, Fraser. I mean cabin. I mean…" he closed his eyes, turned away. "I mean _home_."

He felt Fraser's hands on his shoulders without hearing him move, but Fraser didn't turn him. He just stood there, his fingers resting against Ray's collarbone, thumbs stroking circles into the back of his neck. "Do you mean that?" he finally asked.

"Yes," Ray said in a choked voice, looking into the fire.

"Because this _is_ home, Ray. This is my home." Ray tried to face him, but Fraser held him where he was, stepped in closer so that Ray could feel his breath on his neck. "The RCMP wanted to put us up in a hotel. I wanted…I wanted you to have someplace you'd be comfortable. Someplace you could get used to, if it took a long time. The extra money…it wasn't for food. It was what they would have paid to keep us somewhere else."

"You…this is…."

"I built this cabin, Ray. For myself, and for Diefenbaker. I never imagined sharing it with someone else."

"And now?"

"Now I imagine a lot of things I didn't before." Fraser's lips were warm against the back of Ray's neck. His hands moved downwards, sliding around Ray's hips and coming back up to his chest, pulling him back against Fraser. Ray let himself lean into him, closing his eyes and feeling the warmth of the fire on his face, the heat of Fraser pressed up behind him, his lips working a trail up Ray's throat to suck on that spot behind his ear.

He melted back against Fraser, moaning quietly, and felt Fraser's fingers tighten in his shirt.

"I want this," Fraser whispered against his skin, before tipping Ray's head and claiming his mouth. His lips were soft, chapped, and his hand tangled tightly into Ray's hair. His other hand rested against Ray's waist, where it had been while they danced, and Ray covered it with his own hand, twining their fingers together.

"Yes," he whispered, breaking their kiss long enough to turn and wrap his arms around Fraser. He kissed him again, slow and deep, their tongues learning each other, dancing as smoothly as their bodies had. Fraser shifted against him, legs pressing up against Ray's, and Ray felt him hard through his jeans. He gasped into Fraser's mouth and moved against him, rocking them together until they were both frantic, Fraser's hands tucked into the back pockets of Ray's jeans, Ray's clutching helplessly at Fraser's back.

"C'mon," he whispered finally, tugging at Fraser's shirt, pulling him back towards the bedroom.

Fraser glanced at the couch, his hair rumpled and lips swollen from kisses. "Isn't the bedroom kind of…. _far_?"

Ray stifled a groan. Desperate Fraser was something new and almost completely irresistible. Almost. "Oh no, you don't," Ray said, wrapping his fingers around Fraser's wrist and tugging him down the hallway. "You don't get to ignore me in a bed for that long and then fuck me on the couch." Fraser flushed deep red at the word _fuck_.

"But…" Fraser glanced backward, clinging to the last shreds of his conscience. "The fire, Ray."

"It's almost out. And Dief will let us know if anything happens." The wolf was watching them from the hearth, disdain clear on his face. "Come on, Fraser." He leaned in close to Fraser's ear. "I want you to fuck me in our bed."

Fraser made a sound that was close to a growl, and spun Ray around, pinning him to the wall and kissing him deep and hard, hands tight around Ray's wrists. Ray twisted his hands in Fraser's grasp, kissing back, until he needed to feel Fraser's hands on him so badly it hurt. "Go," Ray told him, slipping a hand from Fraser's fingers and guiding him down the hall with a hand tucked into his back pocket. It wasn't until they reached the door of the bedroom that Ray noticed the tiny night lights leading the way down the hall.

He stopped Fraser in the doorway and kissed him once, lightly and tenderly.

"What was that for?" Fraser asked.

Ray smiled. "Take off your clothes, Fraser. Forget asking questions."

Fraser didn't have to be told twice. His fingers trembled on the buttons of his shirt, so Ray helped him, working from the bottom up. His undershirt came off easily, and then he went to work on Ray's clothes, taking a moment to run his hands over the soft new flannel, then tugging the shirt over Ray's head without undoing it. Ray hadn't worn anything under it, wanting to feel the fabric on his skin, and now he felt Fraser on his skin instead, their chests pressing together as Fraser wrapped him in his arms and kissed him.

Ray backed up until they both sprawled onto the bed, clumsy and laughing. The laughing stopped when Ray's hands went to Fraser's belt, one finger tracing the line of his cock through his jeans. Fraser bit his lip, watching Ray silently, and Ray leaned down to suck at the tip of it through the fabric. Fraser arched up off the bed, one hand landing heavily on the back of Ray's neck before he seemed to catch himself, smoothing down the damp hair there instead.

"It's ok," Ray told him from between his legs. "I'm not going to break, you know." He undid Fraser's belt and jeans, then pulled his pants and boxers down and off, leaving him sprawled there against the bedspread, naked and aching for Ray's touch. Ray leaned in and kissed Fraser's hipbone, working the skin until he left a mark and Fraser was writhing under him, desperate for Ray to touch his cock. "Oh," he said quietly, breath cooling the moisture at the tip of Fraser's cock. "Oh, is this what you wanted?" he asked before sucking it into his mouth, tongue tracing patterns on the underside, making Fraser's fingers tangle into the sheets and his hips jerk up off the bed.

"Ray," he finally gasped out, fingers touching Ray's chin, and Ray pulled back, looking up at Fraser. "Come here," Fraser said. Ray didn't have to be asked twice, crawling up the bed to kiss Fraser.

Fraser rolled them so he was on top, and went to work on Ray's jeans, not breaking the kiss for a second. His fingers were strong and quick, and Ray was naked in no time, Fraser kissing a line down from his jaw to his belly button, then skipping over his cock altogether and licking his way up Ray's thighs. Finally, _finally,_ his tongue smoothed across Ray's balls, licking them gently before moving upward in a long stripe to the tip of Ray's cock. He could feel his legs trembling, and Fraser's hands rested against them, rubbing them until Ray calmed down, relaxed a little. Then Fraser's mouth was sucking down his cock, impossibly far, impossibly tight, and relaxing was the last thing on his mind.

He cried out, wordless and helpless, fingers wrapped painfully into the sheets as Fraser swallowed around him. One hand untangled to rest on the back of Fraser's head, driving his rhythm, bringing Ray so close to the edge that when he pulled back, Ray let out a sound that was close to a sob.

"Ray," Fraser said, and Ray couldn't believe that he was trying to _talk_ to him now, that he expected Ray to be able to _answer_ him. "You said before that…"

"Yes," Ray said, voice hoarse, head rolling back against the pillows. "God, yes, Fraser. I meant it. Just…now, please."

Fraser, it turned out, was good at following orders. He was also good at doing other things with those fingers than giving massages. He turned Ray over on the bed, propped him up so that his cock couldn't rub up against anything no matter how hard he tried, and he fucked him with his fingers, deep and slow until Ray was sinking his teeth into the pillow and begging.

"Now, Ray?" Fraser finally asked, and Ray nodded helplessly.

"Now? Jesus, Fraser. _Yesterday_."

Fraser pressed into him, just a little, and Ray rocked backwards, pulling Fraser in more. "Oh," Fraser gasped against Ray's back, arms coming around him, wrapping them tightly together. "Oh, _Ray_." And then he was fucking him, slow and deep, each thrust wringing a whimper of need from Ray. Fraser braced himself on the bed beneath them and moved faster, lips pressing to Ray's back, wherever he could reach.

Ray could feel when Fraser was getting close, that stuttering rhythm, the catch in his breath, and when Fraser leaned forward and gasped in his ear, "touch yourself," he came without a hand on him. He buried his face in the pillows, crying out his release, and he tangled his fingers with Fraser's against the bedspread, feeling the moment when Fraser came inside him.

Fraser didn't make a sound. He came silently, lips pressed to the back of Ray's neck, and Ray rode it out, clinging to Fraser's hand and enjoying the weight of Fraser's body settling on top of him.

They lay like that for what might have been hours, kissing lazily, until Fraser finally moved away and tugged Ray to his feet, pulling down the covers and disappearing into the bathroom for a cloth. Ray crawled back between the sheets and let Fraser wipe him down, then held the blankets open for Fraser to get in.

This time, it was Fraser who wrapped himself around Ray, clinging to him and pillowing his head against Ray's chest. Ray ran his fingers through Fraser's hair until they both fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.  
______________

He woke in the morning to the smell of coffee, and groped blindly for it before he even opened his eyes.

A mug was pressed into his hands, and he wrapped his fingers around it, propping it on his chest and just enjoying the heat and the smell. Drinking it would be too much trouble. It would require seeing what he was doing.

"So," said Fraser's voice beside him, the bed creaking as Fraser climbed back in. "Today is your first day as a free man, Ray Kowalski. What are you going to do with it?"

"I think…" Ray said slowly, prying open his eyelids, "I'm going to drink my coffee."

"An admirable plan."

"And then…I'm going to lie in bed for a while more, just because I can. And also because it is so ungodly cold in here that I can see your breath."

"No you can't," Fraser told him, but Ray saw him go crosseyed the next time he breathed, just to check.

"And after that? Well, after that, I'm thinking of giving a Mountie the most spectacular blowjob he's ever had in his life."

"Hmmm," Fraser said. "A Mountie, huh? Any particular Mountie, or are you just going to go find one on the street?"

"Well, seeing as how there _are_ no streets out here in the great white expanse of nothingness, I guess I'm just going to have to make do with the one I've got."

"And after the blowjob?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I would assume that it's not going to take all day," Fraser said. "What do you plan on doing after that?"

Ray set his coffee cup on the table beside him. "Clearly," he said, "you have never gotten a blowjob from me."

Fraser started laughing, but ended up moaning instead.

Out in the living room, Dief put his paws over his ears.


End file.
